


Deep and Dark

by RoseTingedEyes



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Drylings, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Child Neglect, Fantastic Racism, Fantasy Politics, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29836719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseTingedEyes/pseuds/RoseTingedEyes
Summary: It was a perversion, or so the general consensus was. The last Fin War was only fifteen years previous, and who could ever forgive the Mers for the ships they sunk, the sailors they drowned beneath the waves? No one could. The memorials still were brightly lit and well-attended and the dead were still mourned, the places they left open in people's lives only just starting to scab over. And yet there were those that would sacrifice their humanity for the sea. Their legs would muse, fins would grow, and gills would emerge as they would spend day after day, month after month in the salty water of the ocean. Yes, it was dangerous for Drylings to know of the sea, to walk around freely, lest they betray the humanity they were gifted.Enter Tim Drake, eleven years old and desperate for the sea.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 73





	Deep and Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is an original AU I've been considering writing for quite a few years but never got around to. I really hope you all enjoy and please do not hesitate to let me know what you think of it.

The house was nowhere near the sea. It had struck Tim as odd as a child, given how the old gothic manors of Gotham loomed above the rest of the city, cutting through the smog and chemical that clung to buildings like a hideous second skin just so their residents could see the ocean. The Drake family was old, he had been assured, and they were wealthy, nearly as wealthy and as powerful as the Waynes, and yet he did not catch a glimpse of the ocean until he was eleven years old and chasing shadows and birds as if they could fill the dull aching in his chest.

Even on their way to galas, to the circus, to the airport, Tim’s parents made sure he could never catch the glimpse of the ocean. They took winding routes that added minutes his parents were unwilling to spare through the narrow and filthy streets of Gotham city, never once driving towards the water they assured Tim was there. They tinted every window they could find, going so far as to demand Tim wear nose plugs and glasses that blocked out the entire world with ease when they felt extra care was needed. They never gave an explanation, but as long as they kept coming back, as they promised they would as long as Tim obeyed their rules, it didn’t need an explanation. They would come back if Tim was good, if he listened. What child, when faced with such an ultimatum, did not bend over backwards trying to make it true? Not Tim Drake, that was for sure, and for a while, the gnawing worry in his mind and chest kept him locked away at home, patiently waiting for the sound of high heels to again sound in that small house that fit so poorly with the wealth he was told they had.

That had lasted until the news coverage of a living shadow and a laughing boy made their way into the news cycle, until Tim Drake’s chest stopped in excitement, before resuming its beating with the quiet desperation of a child finding something good, something needed in this city, in his life. That night Tim had crawled through a window, camera held tightly in his hands. It had been a gift from his parents, rewarding his obedience for his seventh birthday, and it was only the familiar weight of it in his hands that reminded him to grab the nose plugs and glasses alongside the gas mask any born Gothamite knew not to leave home without.

That, too, had worked for a time. As Tim’s system grew more complicated, as he added scanners tuned into police communications and a computer with a monitor that lit up with the internal communications of Gotham reporters, through it all he remembered those two items. Every time he left to follow the path of dark, corrupted Gotham hope with the advice of those that knew the city best tucked into his pocket, he remembered them, remembered that they were what kept his family coming home. But then Poison Ivy had begun to clothe the city in a blanket of creeping insidious plants the color of fire and the guesses on how long the city could withstand their assault was not optimistic.

Batman needed to go fast. Tim needed to go faster if he was going to capture any photo worthwhile, and so he had flown out of the house as if the hounds of Hell were on his heels. He barely remembered his shoes and certainly forgot his coat, and, though he did not realize it until he was too far to turn back, he forgot his glasses and nose plugs. But, what harm could it do just this once? The city was melting beneath plants that contained the heat of the Earth’s center in them and Tim needed to go.

When he had climbed the fire escape, twisting small limbs, smaller than they should have been on a boy his age, through the winding metal and rust that seemed to permeate the parts of the city that ended splattered with sea salt and pulled himself onto the roof in an attempting to follow the heroes that had seemed much closer from the ground, Tim took a step forward. The breeze that had blown in that morning returned, carrying the hints of autumn with it, and almost instinctively, Tim wrinkled his nose. It never smelled good in Gotham. But this was not the usual smell of human waste, rotting trash, and chemicals. No, this was something new, something fresh. The smell of the brine hit Tim’s nose and every muscle in his body locked.

He wasn’t like Batman and he certainly wasn’t like Robin, not with how gingerly he stepped on rooftops still. If he was, he would have torn himself away, followed them, done something good, but he didn’t. Usually, Tim half-expected the roofs to bow and roll beneath his feet like the deck of a ship under way, but that half-formed worry sunk beneath the waves of Tim’s thoughts as he breathed in what felt like the first true breath he had had in years. It was clean and it felt like how he imagined Drake Manor would, both undeniably comforting and familiar despite how new it was. It wasn’t enough to just breathe in through his nose, and so Tim’s mouth dropped open, desperate to take in more of the sea.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, breathing in with every gust of wind that hit his face, tasting something miraculous. Tim stood on the rooftop, eyes wide, and just breathed. In and out. In and out. In and out. A streetlight flicked and flared bright before dying with a low whine. In and out. A siren wailed a few streets down, fading in and out of existence as it passed Tim by. In and out. That distinctive sound of ice hitting the metal of Gotham, but that too faded before the ocean as it clung to Tim’s nose. In and out. In-- And that was the sound of boots behind him, that was the sound of footsteps on the gravel that made up the roof, but it was distant, almost like it was coming through a tube.

It didn’t matter. The ocean was there, the ocean was gleaming and clean, something Gotham never was, and it was calling to him, promising him a home, an embrace that would never leave and as much food as he could want, if he could only catch it. All of it was there, just beyond the last few buildings that kept him from the shoreline. Someone was talk--no, two someone’s were, quiet and with the weight of a shadow matched with something bright and almost angry, but they weren’t the ocean. They didn’t matter, not when behind their words, Tim could almost hear the sound of waves.

Waves. They were so close, tucked away behind just a few more buildings as if that would keep him from them. It was a good idea, maybe something his parents had created, but it wasn’t going to stop him now, not when sea salt and fish hung heavy in his nose, filling a gaping hole in Tim’s chest he never knew existed. He would get to the water. He would go home. And, like all good journeys, it began with a single step forward.

It seemed like a good idea until Tim’s foot hit the air and his stomach dropped down to his toes before splattering on the ground below. Gravity would have taken over, taking him down to the pavement along the remains of his stomach if a green glove did not shoot out, grabbing him around the wrist, stopping his untimely fall in exchange for his side slamming into the brick, replacing that melody of waves with a shriek of pain from his ribs, lasting just long enough for the owner of the green glove to bite out a strained “Jesus Christ, kid. Cut us a little slack, yeah? It ain’t been the easiest patrol tonight.”

Tim knew that voice. His head shot up, so quickly it almost seemed like it was going to come off and eyes the color of glacier ice met a green mask and white-out lenses. “Robin,” Tim said around the pain in his side, sagging as best he could in the other boy’s grip, given that he was still dangling off the roof. “Robin,” Tim repeated, eyes brightening with the possibility for an answer, “Robin, can you taste the ocean too?”

If Tim could see Robin’s eyes, he was sure they would have blinked. “Can I taste the ocean,” he repeated, confusion and disbelief. “No kid,” he declared with a snort as he began to pull Tim back onto the roof, “I ca--” The wind picked back up, carrying with it the smell of the tides and the world beneath them and suddenly, with all the aplomb an eleven year old could muster, Tim decided it didn’t really matter what Robin was saying. The sea was calling to him and this time, he’d be sure to take the fire escape back down.

That plan died a swift death when Robin sat on Tim’s chest to keep him in place once the boy was firmly back on the roof. Tim could see Robin’s mouth moving, though it was difficult to tell if he was speaking to him or Batman. Where was Batman, Tim wondered idly, as distant from the thought as his body was from Australia. A vicous snarl rose in his chest, deep and furious. He could be there, he could be so much closer to the world, to whichever country his parents were in now if he could just get to the water. But instead Tim lay trapped underneath a kid colored like a traffic light, too focused on the beauty of the waves in his ears to get free. It was alright, for now, but it was a price and a sacrifice he was unwilling to make for the long term. He would get to the docks.

That was the plan. He ran it over and over in his head as he looked at Robin, unhearing and uncaring of what the other boy said. Remember the ocean, Tim told himself. Get to the ocean. Get-- The train of thought died a swift death as the boy wonder raised a hand, bringing it over to Tim’s ribs and poking them, returning the sharp ache of them into perfect focus punctuated with a gasp forced from Tim’s throat. “Sorry,” Robin yelped quickly, raising his hands in a universal gesture of surrender. “I didn’t want to, but B didn’t have any better ideas and I think you’re back with us now?”

Tim nodded, words catching and tangling in his throat, but he didn’t think he imagined the relief that danced across Robin’s face at that. “Yeah,” Tim managed to force out, “but you have to let me go. I need to go home.”

“Home? I mean, I guess that’s ok,” he relented, starting to stand up, “because you were really set on the ocean there for a while, and it seemed like a really shiiii-- bad idea,” he amended, wincing at a reprimand Tim could not hear. Not that he was listening. Robin was just about far enough… Now. Tim pushed off the roof, running as fast as could towards the fire escape, camera hitting his chest with each step.

Tim was fast. The Batman was faster. Tim had barely made it to the rusted metal of the fire escape that had gotten him up onto the roof in the first place when a black glove and gauntlet seized his wrist just hard enough to make it clear that moving any further was a bad idea. “Stop,” ordered the living shadow and Tim, as any Gothamite would, did as he was commanded.

Robin, unlike his predecessor, did not bounce over. No, Tim thought a little hysterically, Dick Grayson is certainly not the one in that suit anymore. Despite that, the colors calmed something in Tim and he relaxed a little. The wind had not yet picked up. “Look, I know you’re probably scared right now,” Jason began, “I mean, yeah, B is pretty scary, but we don’t wanna hurt you. What’s your name?”

“Tim Drake,” the only one not in a costume answered. The words practically tripped and fell over each other in their desperation to get out of his mouth.

“Hiya Timmers,” Robin greeted, grinning at the boy. “Why did you want to get to the ocean so badly?”

Tim sniffed, horrified as tears began to gather in his eyes. He wasn’t a baby, he wasn’t going to cry, not in front of his heroes. “It smelled like home and sounded like safety,” he said in a small voice that his mother never had much patience for. “I just wanted to go home,” Tim admitted as the first few tears began to fall and he scrubbed at them with his one free hand, furious they existed at all.

Batman and Robin exchanged a look. “Timmers,” Jason said slowly as if the words needed to exist slowly so Tim did not run, “what’s a Dryling like you doin’ out here without the protection you need?”

Tim froze.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not yet complete, but I do intend to write more. If you have any preference for what you would like to see, please let me know!


End file.
